


I'll Melt with You

by opalmatrix



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: 80s Music, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Saiyuki Miami-verse, Canon-Typical Violence, Fight Sex, First Time, M/M, nightclubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: What Hades sees from the DJ booth ends up taking him outside his comfort level.





	I'll Melt with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerbutterfly/gifts).



> summerbutterfly wanted an AU.

In the glass DJ booth high above the black back room at Hotwire, Hades crossfaded the last pounding notes of Chaka Kahn's latest with the opening of Billy Joel's strutting "Big Shot." The lights burst up over the ring, brilliant white and Satanic red. The men lounging lazily in the folding chairs sat up, and Hades sank down on his ergonomic and expensive leather-seated stool, made for professional drummers and chosen to spare the expensive feathered wings on his back. He rested his head on his hands, listening to the whistling and hooting for the first contestants. It seemed to him that the noise was more than usual, and he peeled open his eyes reluctantly to look down.

The man who had come out was worth shouting for: easily two or three inches over six feet tall, deep brown skin that argued Hispaniola or maybe Haiti as his birthplace, sculpted pecs, handsome features, and a shaved bullet head. Where most of the fighters in Hotwire's fight ring looked like body builders or surfer dudes, this man carried himself like a fighter. His gleaming purple satin trunks bagged around lean hips and snugged into a tight, narrow waist. He jabbed a couple of punches in the air, fast and controlled, and then shook his fists above his head like a champion, acknowledging the shouts with a regal nod.

"Jean the Machine!"

"Caribbean King!"

"Give it to 'im, Mister Ady!"

"Who's gonna be your bitch tonight, man?"

As if in answer to the last shout, Ady's opponent leapt over the ropes and into the ring. Not quite as tall, lighter in musculature, golden-skinned and red-haired and clad in fire-engine red trunks: the challenger was none other than Jake Savage.

The noise of the crowd shifted: laughter, catcalls, a few jeers. Hades tool a deep breath and grabbed an old 45, dropped it on the table, placed the needle, and cut over hard:

"…somebody turned around and shouted  
Play that funky music white boy  
Play that funky music right—"

At the words of the old Wild Cherry hit, Savage began to bump and grind with an imaginary partner. The audience clapped along, laughing. 

"Play that funky music white boy  
Lay down that boogie and play that funky music till you die!"

Savage leapt into the air and did a back flip, landed, and went down into split, grinning.

"Oooh, Jake, baby!" someone moaned in falsetto mock ecstasy.

"Daddy's little skank!" sneered someone else. 

Still grinning, the Hotwire owner's live-in squeeze flipped that man a bird. Hades wondered whether anyone else had noticed the flash of real anger in Savage's pale eyes. Ady stood proudly, arms akimbo, ignoring the show. The referee—who doubled as one of the bouncers—strode out and delivered the rules all in one long, monotonous breath. The crowd was so loud that Hades wouldn't have been known what the guy was saying if he hadn't already heard it so many times before: "No hair pulling, don't go for the eyes, don't knee the balls. Start when the bell rings, stop when it rings again. Stop if the opponent goes limp. Got it?"

It was all unnecessary. Savage had been out there twice since Hades had been in the booth at Hotwire, and from the crowd's reaction, Ady was also a repeat. Both nodded, Ady rolling his shoulders to loosen them up, Savage flexing his long fingers and bouncing on his toes. Hades segued into a throbbing, bass-heavy techno number from Germany. The ref stomped out of the ring, the bell clanged, and the fight began.

Ady moved economically and punched like a pro boxer. Savage liked kicks, which suited his long legs, and when Ady grabbed one and tried to pull him over, Savage scissored his other leg as well and pulled Ady down with him. Hades knew that Savage was trying to get Ady pinned in a ground hold, one of the redhead's best moves, and apparently Ady knew it too: he put all his effort into simply breaking the hold and regaining his feet. Savage jumped up faster and managed to land a kick in Ady's ribs. Ady hissed and then closed, pummeling Savage with a flurry of blows that drove him back into the ropes. One powerful roundhouse landed in Savage's side up under his ribs, and Savage doubled up and dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Ady got him in an arm lock, hoisted him up, and slammed him face down onto the floor.

Hades winced, even as he faded the heavy beats into Rick James' "Give It to Me Baby." Savage just lay there for a moment, Ady's arms still holding his locked. Then he rasped out "Yield!"

The bell rang out again. Ady let go and rose, raising his fists above his head and nodding regally to the cheering crowd as he paced around the edge of the ring. Savage lifted his head and then pushed himself up on his hands and knees. Ady bent and grabbed the waist of the red satin boxers in both hands, then ripped them in half, baring Savage's toned, tanned ass. The crowd went nuts. Ady peeled off his own boxers majestically, making a show of it. He dropped gracefully to his knees, already hard, and went to work.

Hades let his vision blur so he wouldn't see Savage's drooping head, the vulnerable nape of his neck revealed and framed by the parted red hair, Ady's fingers digging into his biceps. the thick shaft disappearing and reappearing between those sleek thighs, He knew that his feelings about Savage were dangerously conflicted. It was hard to reconcile this violent, depraved exhibitionist with the pouting and underdressed sex toy on Neil's arm or the spacey, almost wistful kid who liked to watch Hades spin platters.

He adjusted himself in his suit trousers. Here, alone with the records, the turntables, and the rest of his paraphernalia, there was no reason to pretend he hadn't been moved by the sight of two very attractive men engaged in coitus. He flipped through the rest of the selections for the night. Finally, after a suitable interval, he glanced down at the ring again. Ady had already left, Savage was getting to his feet. He tossed back his hair, struck an attitude, and winked at the audience.

Blood was dripping from his chin and and running down both knees.

Hades shuddered and turned back to his work. A few more sexy cuts, faded into each other seamlessly: easy peasy and requiring little attention. Down on the floor, body rocked against body, and some participants headed out the back door for the nearby motels. The staff cleared the folding chairs, and half the space became a dance floor again. One unlucky fellow had to mop out the ring: sweat, come, lube, Savage's blood. The music shifted again, less actual sex, more dance: recent club hits from both coasts. Hades was warming up to his last set of DJ pyrotechnics.

A gentle knock sounded on the booth's door. Spinning around on his stool, Hades was unsurprised to see Savage's face in the little window. Hades beckoned impatiently and swiveled back to his turntables.

A waft of marijuana scent accompanied Savage as he shut the door and slumped onto the spare chair, a battered number retired from the bar out front. "C'n I watch?" he mumbled.

Hades glanced at him, took in the spreading bruise on one cheekbone, the butterfly bandages on the chin, the fact that Savage was dressed in a gaudy satin tracksuit that covered far more of him than anything Hades had ever seen him wear. "Yes, but be quiet. I'm about to start my finale."

"'K."

Hades cued the intro, a funky bass line taken from Golden Earring's "Twilight Zone," looped and distorted, and wove it into the B-side of Prince's latest hit, making the opening stutter and scratch. He was soon deep into the zone, unaware of anything around him but the tools of his art. The beat was his heart, and when he started to rap in Spanish, the crowd shouted and called his name, lending him their energy. Scratch, crossfade, scratch scratch scratch ….

When he was finished, he eased his way into a new song that had been getting a lot of airplay in Europe: a Miami group with strong Cubano roots and a sassy female lead singer. It opened with an ambulance siren, giving him a chance to hit the strobe emergency light tucked up against the ceiling of the main room. "Emergency! Paging Dr. Beat … ." The audience cheered, shrieked, and danced as the rotating red beams washed over them.

He turned off his mic and sat back on the stool, blinking. His senses kicked back in, registering the dim booth and smell of marijuana along with Savage's sweat, plus just a faint tang that might be blood.

"That was jammin'," said Savage. "You are the best. I like this cut, too. Ain't ever heard it before."

"They're called Miami Sound Machine," whispered Hades. He leaned forward and slipped the next album onto the spindle, then relaxed and closed his eyes.

"Hey, Hades?" said Savage.

"Yes?"

"You're off in an hour, right?" 

"Yes."

"Got any plans?"

Hades shook his head, wondering where this was going.

"Sleep with me."

Hades lost all the air in his lungs. His eyes flew open and he stared at Savage, who was leaning toward him. "Why … why would I do that?"

Savage's face, bright and mellow with anticipation and the pot he'd smoked, fell. There was a flash of anger, and then Jake blinked, eyes watering. "God dammit. I thought we were friends," he said, retreating.

"You usually fuck your friends?"

"My—? Depends who. Yeah, special friends." He sat back, defiant, his usual game face on. "Don't tell me you ain't thought about it. I seen you lookin' at me."

He was becoming Neil's creature again as Hades watched, despite the casual, covered-up outfit. Hades swallowed and turned to switch platters. "I'm sorry," he said, because he was. He also felt bereft. He wanted the eager kid back, and yes, he might have wanted to sleep with that boy. "I've had a terrible week." It was mostly true, except that the full story would have been "I've had a terrible life."

The brittle mask retreated a little. "C'n I get ya a drink? I know you don't use."

Yes, he could use a drink at this point. "That would be very helpful right now."

"What? Tim'll get me anything I ask for." The wistful kid was coming back, eager to please and surprisingly caring.

"Single malt Scotch, straight up." If Jensen Neil was going to pay for Hades' drink, it might as well be top shelf.

"You got it." Jake surged to his feet, winced, and went out of the booth, closing the door carefully, quietly, behind him.

Hades watched the floor and changed the records, his mind racing and spinning. Jake was right that Hades had been watching him, but it had seemed so unlikely that his thoughts had never even strayed into a few seconds of fantasy. How long since he had acted on desire?

_This is a terrible idea. This is Dr. Neil's creature. This is not why you are here._

There was a tap at the door: Jake with the drink. He was also juggling a beer as he handed Hades the shot glass. "He said it's Talisker. His best stuff. Ulysses has him stock it for special clients."

Jake sipped: nutty, complex, almost spicy, not too much peat. "It's very nice," he said. "Mellow."

"Wasted on me," said Jake, grinning. He took a mouthful of his beer. For a few minutes, they just sat and drank, the music muted by the glass of the booth, the mood oddly companionable. Hades switched the records, Jake rocked a little in time to the cuts he liked, even though it was obvious that he was favoring bruises: Culture Club, Michael Jackson, Billy Ocean, Yaz, Hall and Oates, Diana Ross, Pet Shop Boys. The digital clock flipped over: 12:55 a.m. The house lights came up a little, and and Hades switched to the Go-Go's upbeat "We Got the Beat." The patrons muttered and bitched, but they knew that Hades went off at 1:00. 

There was a rap at the booth door: Benjy K, the overnight DJ, his bleached hair freshly gelled and spiked. He leered at Jake as he came in. "Su'prised t' see ya sittin' down after that cornholin' you got, Jake baby."

Jake gave him a cocky grin and a finger. "Ady's a big boy, but I can take it, you little fucker."

"As if," said Benjy to the finger. He hefted his record cases and looked over at Hades, his stance shifting to less aggressive. "Everything all set, my man?"

"Indeed." Hades packed up his own platters and relinquished the stool. Benjy was already unpacking his discs, and he slipped on his first album as Hades whisked the Go-Go's away. Benjy shoved the volume up, and the opening of a Patti Labelle number boomed out. He made it repeat and breathed into the mic: "He-e-ey, Miami! It's Benjy K here t' keep you company _all night long!_ "

Jake held the door open, and Hades gingerly eased the wings out of the booth, a record case in each hand.

He followed Jake down the dim corridor away from the booth. Jake stopped at the top of the bare metal stairs and looked back at him: "No hard feelin's?"

Hades drew breath slowly. "Let's start over again. You've just said 'Sleep with me.'"

Jake blinked, and then a slow, sweet smile blossomed. "And then whadda you say?"

"I say, 'Where? I'm not into backstage quickies.'"

Jake chuckled. "It can be hot, but I wouldn't do it to a classy dude like you. C'mon."

They retraced their steps, back past the booth, where Benjy was snarling into the mic. The long corridor took an abrupt right turn, leaving them facing a dead end with a door. Jake pulled out a keyring and unlocked it, then switched on the light.

Inside was a barebones apartment, with a spartan galley kitchen, a dinette set with two chairs, a threadbare sofa, and a TV set with a VCR on a stand. Two doors led to what looked like a bath and a bedroom. The whole place was spotlessly clean but odd-looking because it didn't have a proper ceiling, just the pipes and rafters that hung over the rest of Hotwire's upper floor.

"Well," said Hades, surprised.

"See, the neighborhood used t' be even worse," said Jake. "Ulysses used t' have security stayin' here all the time. The staff keeps it clean because ya never know when someone's going to need a bolthole for a couple days."

Hades eased his wings inside, and Jake locked up behind him. "So, man," said Jake. "It's weird askin' this, but how do the wings come off?"

Hades smiled and put the record cases down out of the way. Then he reached behind himself, easing open the Velcro that held the suit jacket together in the back. Jake blinked at the ripping sound and then laughed. Hades pulled the jacket away, revealing the straps that held the wings in place. "Kinky," said Jake. "Lemme help you with that."

He was surprisingly good with the buckles and ties, leading Hades to some interesting conclusions about Neil's private pastimes. The wings were laid carefully over the dinette table and the backs of the chairs. "Let's go," said Jake, his voice husky, and Hades allowed himself to be pulled into the bedroom.

The bed was only a double, but Hades didn't imagine it mattered. The single window had a blackout shade pulled down over it. There was no proper closet, just a freestanding hanging rack of the kind used in restaurant cloakrooms and a battered three-drawer dresser. Jake hung up the split coat carefully. "I wanna undress you," he said, turning back to Hades.

"If you must." 

Jake stopped. "I won't if you're not into it," he said. Hades didn't care for the doubt in that voice.

"Don't ask my permission," he said, wondering at his own words. "I don't want to think too hard about this."

That seemed to be the right response. Jake got up into his space, loosened his tie and tossed it onto the dresser, started on his shirt buttons. Hades grabbed Jake's shoulders and pulled him forward into a kiss. Jake laughed against his lips and then licked into Hades' mouth, which opened seemingly of its own accord. As soon as the shirt was unbuttoned, Jake's hands roved over his bare skin. His palms were warm and firm. Hades toed off his shoes and pulled Jake toward the bed, then shoved him onto it.

Jake fell back onto the worn cotton bedspread, grinning. Hades was amazed at the warmth that filled his own muscles, the urge to act without thought. He dragged off Jake's high-top Nikes and the sweat socks beneath them, then grabbed the shiny pants legs and pulled. Jake arched his back to let the pants slide past his hips, then lay back and lifted his legs so Hades could pull off the rest.

Bruises were forming on the tan of his knees where it was visible under the gauze and tape that closed the split skin Hades had seen from the booth. Hades stopped and stared. Jake squinted at him and then sighed. "C'mon, you can make me forget about it." He sat up and pulled the gaudy nylon jacket over his head without unzipping it, throwing it in the general direction of the dresser. His forearms and elbows were bruised as well: that was how he'd protected most of his face, Hades realized. _So many places of pain._

"Get over here, Mr. DJ," ordered Jake, sprawled on the bed in nothing but a pair of bright blue bikini briefs.

Hades dropped the warmup pants, shucked off his shirt, then undid and peeled off his trousers, taking his socks with them. In his cotton T shirt and boxers, he climbed onto the bed and spread himself gently over Jake, threading his hands into the long red hair and kissing him again. Jake wrapped his arms around Hades' shoulders and pressed himself against Hades' body, wrapping one leg around him to increase the contact. They kissed hungrily, rocking against each other. Heat built in Hades' groin, washing out over the rest of him in waves.

Jake rolled hm over, spreading his legs on each side of Hades' hips, pressed kisses along his jaw, and nuzzled his throat. He sat back and tugged at Hades' T shirt, pulling it up and over his head, then returned to trailing kisses down Hades' chest, pausing to suck at his nipples. Hades gasped and reached for him, but Jake pressed him down. "Nuh uh, I'm gonna drive a while, man. You just came off shift. Lay back and enjoy it."

Hades started to protest and then wondered why. Wasn't this good, just sensation, no thoughts, no decisions? Now Jake had turned, kneeling beside him, his mouth working down Hades' torso. Hades winced for Jake's knees, but then Jake's mouth engulfed his hard length and he couldn't think about anything else for a moment.

After the first rush of feeling, he came back just a bit. He reached for Jake, wanting to do something with his hands. He touched firm flesh, satin sleaze … dampness.

_—the thick shaft disappearing and reappearing between those sleek thighs—_

Hades pushed his hand down to the root of his own cock, grasping it firmly, feeling Jake's lips pressing down. "Jake, stop."

"Eh?"

"I want to fuck you," he said.

There was a moment of silence. Then Jake laughed softly, a deeply smutty sound. "Sloppy seconds, huh? I didn't figure you were into that."

Hades hesitated and then decided: "Right now I am."

"OK, guess it's your turn to give orders." Jake slid off the bed. Hades watched him pull off the soiled briefs. He was hard, his cock standing proud and firm up against the strip of soft russet down on his belly, darker hair at its base. He put one hand on a hip and raised his eyebrow. "How do ya want me?" 

_Bruises, cuts, pain._ Hades drew a deep breath. Jake's voice was calm, even cocky. None of this was bothering him. But it ought to bother Hades. "Do whatever's easiest on you, so I don't have to think about it."

Jake looked quizzical, then bent over Hades, and nuzzled his throat again. "You worry too much," he said into Hades' ear. "Move over, I'm gonna lie down."

He did so, then raised his knees and planted his feet wide. "Come here, baby," he said, cupping his balls in one hand to move them away from his damp pucker.

Hades, watching him, was struck hard by his own ignorance of this whole type of scenario. He'd never envisioned this position with a man. Silently, he positioned himself and lowered his body. Jake moved Hades' rod into position, and then he was sinking into Jake's body, moist and tight.

Jake's breath went out of him and he shuddered briefly. Hades lifted himself on his elbows, craning to look at Jake's face, but Jake pulled him down again. "Nah, s'OK. Just gimme a minute."

Hades slipped his hands under Jake's back and held him tightly. Jake sighed and then shifted his hips. "C'mon, move now. I want it."

Hades didn't need any more encouragement. He pulled out an inch and then thrust into that hot tightness, again and again. He could feel Jake lifting his own hips to meet the thrusts, and then Jake lifted his legs to wrap them around Hades, locking one foot behind the other ankle. For a moment, Hades was blinded by memories: a smaller body beneath him, rounder, curved. The legs were shorter and softer, but the same feeling of being welcomed to go deeper, deeper, so very deep. He froze, but Jake said "Come _on!_ " and squeezed him.

And that was the end. Hades shuddered and moaned, all the white lights exploding behind his eyelids, and his breath coming hard on Jake's shoulder.

When Hades was able to think again, Jake was riffling his fingers through the short bristles at the back of Hades' neck. "Can you breathe like this?" Hades asked. "I must be getting heavy."

"Yeah, you kinda are," said Jake. "Also, I really need the can."

"Oh!"

Hades pulled out as carefully as he could, but he could tell it hurt. He rolled onto his back, narrowly avoiding rolling off the bed entirely, and watched Jake get up gingerly and leave the room. Eventually the toilet flushed, and he heard the water running in a sink. Jake came back, moving a little less gingerly, and said, "Your turn."

Hades went. He felt weirdly unclean and yet invigorated at the same time. The bathroom matched the rest of the apartment: small, clean, utilitarian. One of the hand towels was damp, but there was another, and two clean but skimpy bath towels. He urinated and took a hasty shower. 

When he came back, the lights were out except for a safety light plugged into the wall socket near the bedroom door. Jake was curled on his side, under the covers. His eyes opened when Hades leaned over and kissed him gently. He watched sleepily as Hades began to dress. "Hey," Jake said. "I thought you didn't have any plans."

"Well, it's late," said Hades. "I thought I'd go home and go to bed."

"Nuh uh," said Jake. "No love 'em and leave 'em. Come 'ere. Sleep with me for reals."

"I guess you're the boss again, then."

"That's right," said Jake, firmly. He sat up, tossing his hair back, then grabbed Hades' wrist and pulled. "So you gotta do what I say."


End file.
